When Stars Collide (Chicago Stars #9) - Susan Elizabeth Phillips Page 0,76
schedule.” His cell rang, and his smile became a frown. “Excuse me.” He stepped outside into the hallway.
Olivia and Thad were still at the table finishing their coffee. She scrunched her nose at him. “What do you bet that’s Mariel calling to ream Henri out for the way we’re dragging the Marchand name through the mud.”
Paisley, who’d been working on her eye makeup in the hotel suite’s mirror, shoved her mascara wand back in her bag. “Mariel doesn’t understand anything about publicity. She’s, like, all caught up in the 1950s or something. She’s not even on LinkedIn. At least Henri is starting to get it.” She reached back into her bag—maybe for a lipstick, maybe for her phone—but her hand stalled. “I was thinking . . .” She withdrew her hand. “Maybe you guys could, like, recommend me as a PA to some of your celebrity friends? Or as a publicist. Not you, Olivia, no offense—unless you know some pop stars or, like, even B-listers who want a personal assistant?”
“Gosh, I can’t think of anyone,” Olivia said innocently. “But I bet Thad has contacts.”
He stared into his coffee cup, taking the coward’s way out. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
Paisley twisted the strap of her bag between her fingers and stared at them both. “Neither of you wants to help me, do you? You don’t respect me.”
“It’s not about respect,” Thad said tactfully.
“You don’t think I do a good job,” Paisley muttered.
Olivia regarded her with some sympathy. Paisley had been raised in privilege, and it was as much her parents’ fault she was so clueless as her own. “Paisley,” she said as kindly as she could, “you haven’t gone out of your way to be helpful on this tour.”
Paisley abandoned her purse. “That’s only because of how can I get excited about passing out sandwiches to reporters and, like, making sure your suitcases get to the right room?”
A task Paisley hadn’t exactly performed well.
Thad stepped in. “I understand promoting watches isn’t what you want to do, but once you take a job, you give it your best. That includes the parts you don’t like. And every job has those. You need to do them as diligently as you do everything else.”
Olivia had a strong suspicion he might be talking about himself and the work he was doing with Clint Garrett.
Paisley looked ready to cry. “That’s so not fair! I work hard! And I’ve gotten you twice as much publicity as you’d have gotten if you’d left it up to Henri or Mariel! I—” She stopped abruptly. Grabbing her bag, she headed for the door.
Olivia shot up from the table and blocked her. “Maybe you’d better explain that.”
“Forget it.” Paisley tossed her hair, looking as defiant as a teen who’d been caught out after curfew.
It all fell into place. Olivia looked at Thad and could see he was thinking exactly the same thing. “You took those photos,” she said. “You’re the one who’s been feeding them to the gossip sites.”
15
Olivia stared at Paisley as the pieces came together. If she hadn’t been so distracted, she’d have figured it out days ago. Those four photos: Phoenix, LA, New Orleans, and yesterday’s kiss on Michigan Avenue. “You’ve been following us,” she said, stating what was now so obvious.
Thad rose from the table, and Paisley took a step back, as if she were afraid he’d hit her. “So what if I did? You got twice as many interviews as you’d have gotten if all you had to talk about was your lame watches.”
“That’s not the point,” Olivia said.
Paisley looked down at her hands. “I told you I know how to work hard. Like, I got up really early to take that shot of you and Thad coming back from your hike. And I know how to get publicity. Obviously.”
Thad’s expression was as stern as Olivia had ever seen it. “You didn’t have any right to expose our private lives.”
“I was doing my job! Exactly what you said, Thad. If you sign up to do a job, do the work. And that’s what I did.”
“What you did was unprofessional and unethical,” Olivia said.
“I’m sorry, okay!”
She wasn’t sorry, and Olivia dug in. “Becoming successful means working hard, but it also means working with integrity. You won’t go far with any celebrity if you’re not discreet and trustworthy.”
Paisley began picking at a cuticle. “I guess I shouldn’t have done it. But seeing how lame their feeds are made me crazy. I knew I could do better.”